A wacky writer's journal.

Bathroom Diaries

My favourite place on earth is my bathroom. Second in line after the dining table. A bathroom is where I do all my wise thinking. I churn out revolutionary thoughts on my throne. Although the purpose of a bathroom is the same, I’m picky about them. I’m sure most of us are. I adore bathrooms. Not just any bathroom, MY bathroom. There is a difference. At least mine is vision free, most aren’t. There is an alarming risk of idiocies being captured when one is not in their own private bathroom. It is a matter of concern for people like me who are masters of idiocies in confined spaces.

My bathroom is one place where I am at my most foolish self. Apart from the ones people are aware of. I’m not ashamed to admit, I wear many imaginary hats in my bathroom. On some days I play Elvis, some times a mime rehearsing for a show, on rare occasions, a melancholic opera singer narrating Shakespeare’s poignant Troilus and Cressida, and on my wackiest days, I become a Broadway star. However, I never tried the famous “Oscar Speech”. It seemed very cliché.

If you love bathroom idiocies, then apartments are the place for you. You will stop complaining about the thin walls when you get unlimited entertainment without turning on a television. It’s also a good way to “know” your neighbour and satiate the sadist within. I have heard them all. The fights, the favourite Hindi tv soaps, the encore for retro music, the bathroom whispers, the incorrect, yet confident dialogue deliveries, and the unexplored Indian idols. They are hilarious. This is one of the many reasons I love living in apartments. There is no greater entertainment than a cluster of bathrooms housing unimaginable insanity.

Most children have imaginary childhood friends; I had a real bathroom friend. (For the tainted brains, it’s not what you’re thinking) It all began when I was whistling a favourite tune in my bathroom one morning. Yes, unlike most women, I have no ladylike characteristics. When I stopped, I heard someone whistling the next line of the tune. I continued. They continued. Thus began our mysterious bathroom friendship. We improved our lung expanding capacities together for many months. I still don’t know who the person was and it has been a long time since we whistled together. But I’d like to believe it was a good-looking man. It is an optimistic thought for there are no handsome men dwelling here. However, I hope my fellow whistler is doing well. Hopefully we can catch up where we left off many years ago.

Be it extravagant or rickety, I love how my bathroom has an unmatched quality of making me feel like the only person alive. I feel free and detached from the outside world. Bathrooms are magical areas where we can forgo our inhibitions and enter the wonderful world of fiction. Completely deranged and untamed.

Go on, enter the magic room of fiction and discover the person you were oblivious to. Forgo sanity and decorum; it is after all just hush-hush.

mine is a small, always wet, strong soap smelling walla types. we are just 4 of us living in this house(3 bedroom, 2 bath) but somehow the bathroom always seems to be occupied !!

i wish i had the bath/ walk in closets walla type.
maybe i could share your views on how you “feel free and detached from the outside world”

here i sing(my lungs out just like you) and my mum bangs my door, saying “i can hear you to the kitchen !
get out already ! how much water will you waste ?
do you know how much we paid for the tanker just yesterday … no water in the tanks … do you realise how many people in India have no water… wasting resources …. global warming !!….